


Limitations

by laireshi



Category: Captain America (Movies), Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, spoilers for doctor strange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 13:24:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8491384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/pseuds/laireshi
Summary: "I could fix your heart,” Stephen offers, tracing his finger over the scars.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Limitations](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9824534) by [notthechosenone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthechosenone/pseuds/notthechosenone)



> (the translation is also available [here](http://www.mtslash.org/thread-224169-1-1.html))
> 
> I'M NOT SORRY
> 
> Thanks for beta to [runningondreams](http://archiveofourown.org/users/runningondreams)!
> 
> I kept thinking about it ever since I watched the movie.

“Hong Kong,” Tony Stark says from behind where Stephen’s standing. 

Stephen doesn’t ask how he got inside, how he even learnt about the Sanctum: this _is_ Tony Stark, after all, and the door sometimes opens to those who need it. The Cloak hasn’t jumped to protect him or incapacitate Stark, so Stephen doesn’t worry about his safety either.

Instead he turns, as if they’re having a conversation. He raises an eyebrow, asks, “What about it?”

He’s met Stark before, at expensive galas and fundraisers. They’d shaken hands a few times. Stephen never sought him out then; something about the man just rubbed him the wrong way.

Looking at Stark now, looking at _himself_ now, it’s very obvious what that _something_ was.

Stark looks ragged; he has deep shadows under his eyes as if he hasn’t slept for days. He probably hasn’t. He’s pale, exhausted and manic in equal measures, seems about to keel over, and yes, this is Stephen’s professional opinion as a doctor.

He knows exactly what Stark wants from him, just as he knows he won’t—can’t, but mostly won’t—give it to him. There’s a price to pay for everything.

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Stark snaps. “What kind of tech was it? Asgardian?”

“Magic isn’t technology, Mister Stark,” Stephen drawls.

He’d thought that would set the man off, but Stark just hunches.

“Well, I knew I’d need a bloody miracle,” he says. 

“Miracles don’t come free,” Stephen tells him, almost gently.

Stark bristles. “What does?” A beat. “ _Any price would be worth it_.”

He obviously knows they’re not talking about money, which is more than Stephen had known months ago—and there’s a funny thought, a _true_ one, Stephen thinks: there is a world where their similarities spilled over, and Tony Stark stood in his place in Katmandu and looked for magic to save his broken life.

He considers saying that, decides against it. That _would_ make Stark leave, and Stephen can’t let him do that yet, not in this state. _Primum non nocere_. 

And there are others who could grant Stark his wish. It’s Stephen’s duty to make sure Stark will never seek them.

“Would it be?” Stephen asks. “Your Avengers are alive. Would you risk them?”

“What Avengers?” Stark says, and Stephen thinks, _ah_. But before Stephen can say something, Tony shakes his head. “And they aren’t, Doctor. Not all of them.”

He’s obviously not lying, which is interesting, because Stephen knows that—divided as they might be, they all survived the last few fights. But it’s not as if Tony Stark hasn’t lost other people.

Then Stark looks at Stephen, tilts his head questioningly. “What was _your_ price?”

“Worth it,” Stephen says. “And I’d keep paying it, over and over.”

Stark looks straight at him. “And you know better than me what I’m capable of doing—”

“Oh, I do believe you’re capable of almost anything, Iron Man. That much is obvious to anyone with eyes. However . . .” Stephen sighs. He supposes he owes him the truth. “I’ve been reading. The library is quite extensive, you see; it spans beyond our reality. What I was looking for is not important; what I found, however . . . Superhero Civil War.”

Stark’s eyes are wide. He’s trembling, ever so slightly, but still noticeably. “Big name,” he says.

“There were hundreds of heroes in those worlds, fighting that war” Stephen says. “The details vary, from what I’ve seen; the constant was Iron Man and Captain America, fighting.”

“So the theory of parallel worlds is true, and all of me are fuck-ups, thanks, just what I wanted to—”

Stephen raises a hand to silence him. Surprisingly, it works, so he continues talking. “The specific world I read about—you survived. Steve Rogers did not.”

Tony Stark takes a step back.

“Playing with time—I did it. It was necessary to save the world; not only to appease my own demons. The only risk I faced was losing when the world was already dying.” 

“Not running away—even from certain disaster—that takes courage,” Stark says, as if he’s not still visibly shaken, terrified by the thought of his friend dying. As if he wants to reassure Stephen, when all he’s doing is breaking.

They really are similar, except now, years since their first meeting—Stephen thinks he mostly feels sympathy.

And he is a doctor, after all.

Stark keeps touching his chest—he probably doesn’t even realise it. Clothed like he is, he looks normal, but Stephen remembers seeing his medical files, and also remembers the years when he paraded around with the arc reactor in his chest. Stephen had thought it was a curiosity, but he wasn’t a cardiac surgeon. Now . . . His extends his hand, barely a few inches.

“Don’t,” Stark says before Stephen can even offer.

Stephen nods. He hesitates, but . . . “This is not me refusing to help,” he says. “You might feel that way, but it’s not. I’m—my job is protecting this planet now, much as yours. If—”

“I know,” Stark interrupts. “And same. Obviously. I will help you protect the Earth, if you ever need help. Even though I still have issues believing in demons.”

“So did I. Empirical experience helped,” Stephen says drily, even though he hopes Stark won’t have that particular experience.

“I bet it did,” Stark says. He’s gathering his masks back, putting them on one by one; a composed leader, now; not a broken shell of a man looking to fix the past he couldn’t deal with.

But Stephen _has_ seen behind the façade already.

“Look, just—take care,” he says. 

Stark stares at him for a second, and then he crosses the space between them, and then suddenly he’s kissing him. It’s a bit desperate, and definitely not a good idea.

Stephen raises his hands, ready to push him away—but he _is_ lonely. And from the looks of it, Stark’s even more so. Stephen thinks of the last thing he said, _take_ care, and understands: Stark just wants someone who cares about him, even if for a moment. And he’s letting Stephen see that part of him.

Stephen kisses him back.

Medical diagnosis: touch starvation; prescription: sex with a superhero. Stephen’s not sure which one of them he means. Both, probably.

Stephen’s hands are shaking—still, all the time, forever—but Stark doesn’t seem to mind. And then he whispers a name, Stephen’s, only he cuts it too short, sounds like Steve instead—

And Stephen understands he was wrong earlier; that it wasn't a friend Tony lost in an argument, that it was a lover. 

Stark doesn’t seem aware that he’s done it, and Stephen definitely won’t bring his attention to it. He’s supposed to be a healer, after all. They fall into each other, broken and grieving and lost when years ago they’d both been so sure of their place in the world. But Stephen can now see he was never _sure_ , so maybe neither was Stark.

It doesn’t matter, when they can both get distracted by the touch and closeness and warmth.

***

They lay on a bed later, together. Stark’s going to leave soon. That’s never been in question.

“I could fix your heart,” Stephen says, because he has to at least offer, even knowing the answer. He traces his finger over the scars on Stark’s chest. Diminished lung capacity, still, if he were to guess, probably a multitude of other problems.

Stark lets out an empty laugh. “You really couldn’t,” he says. He looks at Stephen, and there’s challenge in his eyes, as he presses Stephen’s hand flat to his chest. 

“So what exactly can this magic show you?” he asks.

He knows what Stark’s asking him to do, and he’s pretty sure he can do it, too, even without the Eye; he only wants to summon a vision for himself. Or Stark wants him to, for some reason that’s probably brewing in self-hatred.

Stephen shouldn’t, but that’s the issue when you train enough and spells become like thoughts: he’s already summoned the energy, and he sees, first, Steve Rogers kissing the same scars he’s touching now, second, Captain America driving a shield into Iron Man’s chest.

He takes back his hand as if burnt. Maybe he is.

“I’m sorry,” is all he can say, because Stark all but taunted him into it, but Stephen _shouldn’t_ have seen it. 

“So the answer stands,” Stark says. “Magic can’t fix anything.”

“I am sorry,” Stephen repeats.

Stark just nods and starts getting dressed. “I didn’t really expect anything else,” he says when he’s at the door, and Stephen still hasn’t moved. “That said—everything I’ve said before keeps, Doctor Strange. If you need any help . . .” He trails off. 

Stephen nods. “Thank you,” he says.

He’d like to say Tony’s eyes look lighter when he leaves, but he’s not that much of a liar, even to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic also has a [tumblr post](https://laireshi.tumblr.com/post/152834075362/limitations) and an [imzy post](https://www.imzy.com/laireshi/post/fic_limitations_stephen_strange_tony_stark). I'm always open to feedback :)


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